America Dyes
by Alurax
Summary: America talks France into dying his hair, claiming that he desires to "stand out." With his personality as overbearing as it is, what logic could he possibly have for this?


France had just stretched out onto the sofa of his parleur, a glass of wine held aloft in his hands. He swished the glass, admiring the swirl of the bouquet. A smile touched his lips, inviting the glass to meet them when-

"Hey, Francis."

France jolted, nimbly avoiding spilling the contents of his glass onto his clothes. His eyes glowered upwards towards the American beaming down at him. "What do you want, Alfred?" He responded in a near growl.

America's face inverted slightly, though he still smiled. "Sorry. Was I interrupting something?"

France sighed, setting the glass down upon his end table and folded his legs in to face America full on, his anger melting into an almost cynical grimace . "Are you 'ere for a reason?"

"Why else would I be here?" America leapt over the back of the sofa, and sat opposite France. "You're good with hair right?"

France's expression turned quizzical. This seemed an odd question to come from America. "You... want me to do your 'air?"

"Not fully. I just want to dye it, and I don't trust myself not to fuck it up."

A mix of 'what zee 'ell?' and flattery washed over France. "Dye? Why do you wish to dye your 'air?"

America shrugged. "Just wanted to go for a change, and a way to stand out a bit more."

France had to bite back a laugh. "You need to stand out more?"

"Yea. And I figured this could be the best way to do it." His expression seemed to be genuine, but there seemed to be an ulterior motive. However, America has always been nearly impossible to read. On the other hand, what could he possibly be plotting from wanting to dye his hair?

"Very well, zen." France patted himself on the legs, and stood. "If zis is something you believe zat only I can do, zen I will be happy to oblige. Come." With a flourish, France offered a hand down to America. Hesitantly, He took his hand, and allowed France to lead him out of the room.

They soon came to another room, with mirrors lining most of the walls. Their rushing images flickered around them, as they closed in on a large door, stretching up to the ceiling. France released America's hand and spun towards the door, giving a small bow. "Prepare yourself, for a sight which shall dazzle your eyes, for years to come." He grasped the brass handles and swung the doors open.

It was indeed dazzling. But that could have been the multitude of large bulbs, lining yet another mirror, which flared to life the moment they were exposed. The shelves on the doors were packed with every possible hair care product known to man. Shampoos, and conditioners, scissors, curlers, straighteners, styling combs, and rows upon rows of all kinds of stuff that America had never ever cared to know about. However, it was pretty damned impressive. No wonder France had such amazingly silky hair.

"Wow."

"I know." France reached out and opened the cabinets below the mirror, nudging aside the pomp chair. "Now, we must determine zee right shade for you." America leaned forward to see the cabinet harbored a large array of every hair color imaginable. Even some that you might not. "Uh, well." he pulled out a box he grabbed at Wal-mart. "I already had this, and uh-"

"Oh non non non non." France stood up and snatched the box out of his hand. "I will not have my 'andy work be shown by such-" He looked down at the box. "Is zis blue?"

"Well, yea, I was."

"Non." France threw the dye in the garbage and sat America down in the chair. "Hair coloring is not something zat should be ventured into lightly." He took America's chin in his hands and turned his head to better examine every angle. "One can not simply throw on a color, and expect it to work. Complexion, zee angles of your face, as well as personality are all components which should be taken into account when deciding such a change. For you, I am almost feeling a strawberry blonde could-"

"No." America snapped, smacking his hands away. "Anything but blonde."

France's first thought was more aimed towards the knowledge that he hurt his hand, then somewhere around where he doubted America really understood what color he was offering. "Why?"

"I have my reasons." He shook his head. "I just don't want any kind of blonde hair. Come up with something else." There was a spark in his eyes, that nearly revealed true motives, but it vanished quickly.

France was a bit taken aback at how adamant he was toward something he would typically see as being frivolous. "Very well." Hesitantly, France began examining him again. "I shall see to something zat can be more suitable to your needs. Though I wish you would tell me what zis is all about."

"It doesn't matter right now. You'll find out soon enough." There was another slip in his expression, but France decided to just let it roll off his notice. "Well, in this case, I know what can go for you. Sit tight." France moved away, retreating back to his boudoir, and fishing through the dyes. "Giving the natural state of your face, and zee cut of your hair, it would not suit you to go too dark. 'Owever I believe I have the perfect shade to suit you." He held up a bag of red dye, giving him a rather wicked grin. "Plus, a nice deep auburn would do well with zat fiery attitude for which you are so well known. Unless you would appreciate a more drastic change. For, as you say, you are doing zis to stand out more."

America considered it for a bit, then grinned. "Na. That's fine." He laced his fingers, stretching them above his head. "Color me up, Frenchy."

France laughed. "Very well." With yet another flourish, France whipped a barber's tarp from out of nowhere, and slid it around America's shoulders, and secured it around his neck. "If you'd like I can style zis ragged mop you call 'air, as well."

America glowered back at him. "No, I'm good."

France laughed. Running his fingers through America's hair. "Although, you do seem to take better care of your 'air zan Kirkland ever did. You could at least let me trim off zese dead ends."

America just groaned in annoyance. "Fine, I guess. Just don't get carried away."

"Very well." France whipped a pair of scissors out, and proceeded to trim off the edges of America's hair. He sighed longingly. "You know, zis brings back memories. It is not exactly zee same, but I remember tending to Canada's 'air this way. Oh, I do 'ope 'e 'as kept up with it. I'd 'ate to see such beautiful 'air go to waste. Although, perhaps these genetics are what 'ave kept your 'air in such good shape, without much effort on your part. If not, you might be in as bad a shape as England."

America gave a small laugh. "You know, it's been so long, why do you still hate Arthur?"

France nearly dropped his scissors. "Eh-uh-you... You are saying zis? Don't you 'ate Kirkland as well." He left to start mixing the dye.

America shook his head, briefly checking the mirrors to make sure that most of his hair was still there. "I never hated him. Hey, Francis, you see Arthur more than I do. Do you know if he still hates me?"

France laughed, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. "I'd say taking every opportune moment to kill you is a good sign zat he does." He snapped the gloves in an almost dominatrix sort of way, making America a bit nervous. "On zee other hand, I do believe it to be a front." France made his way over, and started messing with America's hair, squeezing the dye onto his head.

America glanced back at him. "What do you mean?"

"Face forward." He forced his head straight. "What I mean is, Kirkland is not one to just let go of zee past. You meant a great deal to him. I could see it in his eyes, whenever he took you in. I see this 'ole thing with him trying to kill you as being very 'alf 'earted. Merely a way to cover up 'ow much 'e still cares for you."

"You think so?"

"I know zat I could not stand for any 'arm to befall Matthieu. Even after 'e 'as left me for so long." There was a note of sorrow in his tone. "Sometimes I wish zere was a way to go back and regain what we once 'ad."

America laughed. "If it did, would you let me and Matty play together?"

France didn't even give much thought to that before he started laughing. "England would never allow you to come to my 'ouse to play."

"Why couldn't you just let Matty come to our house?"

"Are you insane? You saw 'ow Kirkland took Matthieu from me, once 'e lost you. I could not risk zat 'appening sooner."

America snorted. "Yea, sure. Because of your feud, we never got to see each other. Growing up I was barely even aware that I had a brother." His expression slouched. "And then I forgot about him completely. Even after all these years, Matty remembered me, and I forgot all about him."

"You 'ave found each other now."

"Too little too late. Mat hates me too."

"Oh, come now. Matthieu is zee only one who really does like you."

"What? What do you mean by that?"

France laughed awkwardly. "Never mind. Why do you think Matthieu 'ates you?"

America shrugged. "Why wouldn't he?"

When he didn't elaborate, France nudged the back of his head. "Care to explain?"

"Not really."

France was struck silent. This was indeed growing into a very bizarre experience. He sighed, pulling the gloves off as he walked away. "It just needs to set in, for a bit, zen you can go rinse it out." France stood, facing away from America for a short while, then finally turned back. "It is strange to see you so down, Alfred. I do not understand 'ow you 'ave convinced yourself zat your own brother 'ates you so much."

America merely glanced up at France. "How can you not see it? I'm not stupid. I know what everyone thinks of me. How much they hate me, when all I've done is try to help." France watched him, a bit puzzled, as America just sighed, diverting his gaze. "Everyone always gets pissed off at me, then even when I try to stay out of it, they get pissed off for not helping, and it's infuriating."

France sighed, leaning against the boudoir. "You can not please everyone, and you can not try so 'ard. Because, as you 'ave seen, you will make more enemies zan you will allies."

America scoffed. "Yea, and even my allies hate me."

"I do not 'ate you."

"You're full of shit."

"Non, you do indeed anger me, most of zee time, but I can not fully bring myself to 'ate you. In fact, I believe zee only one zat truly still hates you is Russia... most likely China. Everyone else is just aggravated, and wishes to duct tape your mouth shut."

America actually gave a weak smile, looking up at him. "I'm trying to not be so annoying, but I can't change who I am."

France couldn't help but laugh on this one. "So, you acknowledge it?"

"I've had enough nations scream it in my face, I hope I know it by now."

France lingered for a moment, then made his way over his hand gently coming to rest under America's chin, lifting his head up to look at him. He smiled. "Good, for a second zere, I thought you were crying. I do not permit anyone to cry in my presence. It will ruin your beautiful features.

America grimaced at the word. "Beautiful?"

"But, of course." He whipped his hand away, and moved in a mock ballet twirl back to the boudoir. You are far more beautiful zan you realize, and I am not zee only one 'oo 'as realized zis, I am sure."

"Really? Like who?"

France knelt on the floor, steepling his fingers under his chin to look up at America with that all knowing grin. "'Ow often do you truly listen to Canada?"

America's expression turned quizzical at such an odd statement. "Listen to him? We talk all the time."

France shook his head. "Non, I mean really listen to him. Actually 'ear what 'e is saying. Notice what 'e is doing."

There was a brief pause, almost like he was truly contemplating what he said. Finally, he shook his head. "But I always notice him. It's everyone else that never seems to see him."

That wicked grin just spread, as France shook his head. He cupped America's chin in his hand, squeezing his face. "You are still so young, or else razer blind. Matthieu cares deeply for you. 'E loves you more zan you think 'e does, and all 'e wants is to be shown zat love in return." His hand gently moved to cup the side of his face. "All you 'ave to do is open your eyes."

xXx

"Alfred, what the bloody hell did you do to your hair?" England scolded when America entered the world conference, a week later.

America just grinned, patting his former father on the shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about." He moved on, and up the table to take his seat next to Canada. He took full notice of the curious look his twin was giving him and winked.

Across the table, France was trying his best not to laugh outright at England, then wondered why he was bothering. England plopped down next to him, sulking. "He really does want to break all ties with me, doesn't he?" His head fell down onto the table. "That beautiful blonde hair was the only thing we still had in common, and now he's gone and ruined it."

France laughed harder. "I believe you are starting to sound more like me."

England snapped his head up and glared to his rival. "Shut the hell up, what do you know?"

This just in sighted more laughter. "More zan you, obviously." Granted this statement wasn't entirely true. Although he knew that America had dyed his hair, he still didn't fully know the reason. Perhaps England was right in thinking that he just wanted to diversify himself more from his homeland.

Germany was in charge of the conference this time around. A position he often fought for, seeing as how they'd never get anything resolved otherwise. Unfortunately for him, things never panned out the way he wanted. It seemed nearly impossible to stop France and England from bickering with each other, and Russia kept moving his chair around to try and both move in on some of the other nations, and escape reach of Belarus.

Finally Germany called the meeting to a stand-still and asked if there was any other business, or announcements.

Instantly, America's hand shot up. "Yea, I got one."

Most of the other nations groaned. America always had some kind of announcement, and it usually involved something idiotic, like heros or fast food of some sort. Given his history with these kinds of things, nobody truly wanted or cared to hear what he had to say.

"Quiet everyone." Germany called over the table. "Ve are here to listen to each ozer, no matter how much you might not like it. So, shut up, unt let Amerika speak."

"Thanks, Germany." America stood, beaming out to the crowd. "Now, now you can all relax. This isn't something that should negatively effect anyone."

This statement was met with more groans. America's idea of negative seemed far different than everyone else.

"I would just like to point out that, in case some of you missed Iggy's outburst earlier." He picked up a small clump of his hair. "I have dyed my hair."

This announcement was met with a small, "Yay" from Italy, but most others were struck silent at the level of stupidity his announcements have finally sunk to. France dropped his face into his hand. "Mon Dieu."

"Now." America held up a hand to emphasize his point. "I would like you all to take full notice that America is now a ginger. My hair is red." More face palms met this, along with more groans.

"Why should we care?" China's voice carried down the table.

"I'm getting to that. As you can see, to my left." He moved sideways and lifted Canada's hair from his shoulders. "Canada's hair is not red. It is still, in fact, blonde."

Canada froze in his seat, feeling his cheeks flush. His heart pounded, wondering why America was trying to draw attention to him.

America let the hair in his hands fall back into place. "As you can see, in no way, do we look alike. It would be good of you all to remember this, and not get us mixed up, as you have done in the past. Thank you." He gave an almost French-like bow, and sat back down, looking very pleased with himself.

The entire room was struck silent. So, there was a point to all of this, but they still didn't understand what was so relevant about them knowing this.

"Um... ok?" Germany started, then cleared his throat and stood. "Anyting else?" When he wasn't met with any more responses, Germany called the meeting to a close, and the other nations started to disperse.

France rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, interesting."

England just turned to look at him, his mouth agape. "What are you on about? How was that interesting?"

"Isn't it obvious? 'E did not wish to diverse himself from you, but rather Matthieu." His eyes narrowed contemplatively. "I wonder why."

England folded his arms, in a huff, and slouched in his seat. "He likes to stand out, that's all there is to it. Bloody Yank."

"... Is zere?"

xXx

Canada was making his way through the halls of the conference center. He didn't know why, but for some reason his twin's announcement made him feel bad. Why was he so adamant about everyone knowing they were different? Why was it so important?

"Hey."

He caught a quick glimpse of America heading into the bathroom, and stood still, for a bit, trying to decide if he should follow. With a deep breath, Canada crossed the last few feet, and pushed open the door. America was standing at the sink, checking his reflection in the mirror. His eyes flicked briefly to acknowledge his twin standing in the doorway.

"Hey."

"Y'know, Francis said I didn't need to go too dark, but I think this was still more than he intended. I'm still not quite used to it though."

"Hey."

"It looks nice."

America grinned broadly to his brother. "You think so?" Immediately his expression fell. "Hey, you ok?"

Canada looked right up at America, and stepped back as he came towards him. "Yea, I'm fine."

"Hey, you."

America's eyes examined his face, uncertain. "You don't seem like it. What's wrong?"

"Um."

"Heeeeeey." There was a tugging on the front of his coat.

"Come on." America's hands came to rest on his shoulders. "You can tell me."

Canada's face heated. He felt so stupid now. "Well, I-"

"Hey!"

"What!" Canada nearly snapped down at the little bear in his arms.

Kumajirou looked innocently up at him, as if he wasn't being a nuisance. "I'm hungry."

Canada's nerves melted. "Can't it wait?"

"No." Kuma whined, scratching the front of his coat. "I'm starving."

America laughed. "Here little guy." He grabbed his bag from the sink, and opened it, dropping it on the floor. "Pig out."

Kuma gleefully leaped from Canada's arms and started digging through the bag.

Canada laughed. "You keep doing that and he's going to start liking you more than he does me."

"Ya gotta be prepared for these kinda things. Now." He turned back to Canada, the gleam in his eyes blooming with concern again. "What's going on with you?"

Canada looked up at him for a brief moment, then sighed, turning his gaze away. "It's nothing major just..." He paused, then turned back to face his brother. "What was that all about in there?" He finally asked, motioning back towards the conference hall.

America looked completely taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what was the point of dying your hair? And on top of that, why was it so important for them to all know that you did?" He stepped forward, feeling his eyes burn. "Why was it so important for us to be different?"

America was struck silent, far too confused by his twin's concern to really understand why he was so upset. "I... we needed... to be different."

"Why?"

"Because... I don't want anyone to think that you're me anymore."

All concern Canada had melted into shock. "What? I-I don't understand."

America stepped forward, his hand coming to rest on top of Canada's head, where he still harbored a small scar. "You've been hurt before, because other nations thought you were me, and I can't stand the thought of it happening again." America's hand gently cupped his twin's cheek, resting their foreheads together. "There are far too many nations out there that hate me and could come after me. I don't want you to get caught up in that."

"But."

"Shh." America's fingers traced through Canada's hair. "I could never forgive myself if you got hurt, because of me."

"Alfred." Canada grasped his brother's hand, feeling a tear trace down his cheek. "You know that, if something were to happen to you, I'd rather it be me."

America pulled Canada tightly into his arms, cutting him off. "Don't say that. Don't you ever say that again. I won't allow you to get hurt. Not if I can prevent it."

Canada sniffed, burying his face in America's chest, and wrapped his arms around him as well. "The same goes for me, vous bête."

America laughed, nudging him back enough to see his face again. "What have I told you about insulting me in French?"

Canada slid from his twin's reach, chuckling softly. "I'll stop, if you can tell me what I said."

America groaned. "How the hell should I know? I couldn't learn French."

"Then how do you know it was an insult?"

"Cause it's always an insult. You only speak French when you don't want me to know what you're saying."

Canada flicked his hair out of his face. "Just because I don't want you to know what I'm saying, doesn't always mean it's an insult."

"Really? What else could it be?"

"Well." Canada's cheeks reddened, taking a step back. "Does it really matter?"

"Oh, come on now." America crept up on him. "Now I gotta know."

"No you don't." Canada tried to back away from his brother's grip, but America managed to grab him around the waist. "Y'know, it's rude to speak to someone in a language they don't understand.

"It is not."

"Is too."

Being forced to look into his twin's eyes again, Canada's face burned a hot pink. "Why is this so important to you?"

"Cause I don't want you to be calling me stupid, or something."

Canada bit his lip to try and not laugh. Didn't completely work. He grinned, running his fingers through his hair. "Et si je devrait dire, je t'aime?"

For reasons unknown, America could feel a knot forming in his stomach. Maybe it was his demeanor, or even the small glint in his eyes, but France's words started to ring in his head. _'Ow often do you truly listen to Canada? Actually 'ear what 'e is saying. Notice what 'e is doing._

America's face started to burn a deep red, noting that Canada had become very nervous. Canada gave a rather uncharacteristic laugh, that somehow seemed very familiar, taking a step back. "You don't need to look so serious. If it bothers you so much, I can speak English."

_'E loves you more zan you think 'e does, and all 'e wants is to be shown zat love in return._

"No. It's fine." His voice sounded distant, unsure, but his hand came up on Canada's shoulder, sliding around the back of his neck. "You're perfect, just the way you are."

_All you 'ave to do is open your eyes._

America leaned up, pressing his lips against his little brother's forehead. Their heads rested against each other, and America smiled down at him. "Je vous, mon ami."

Canada was frozen, staring up at him in shock. "Heh?"

America just laughed. "Was that not right?"

"I-I'm not sure. You... was that?.. How?"

America shrugged. "I'm trying. It's not very effective, though."

A moment more of stunned silence, then Canada smiled, his eyes falling as he shook his head. "It's more effective than you may think." He sighed, and America threw an arm around his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go do something."

"Yea, sure." Canada sighed. "Come on, Kumakichi."

America opened the door, leading his brother on out. "So, how was my accent?"

"Eh, needs work, but I don't expect much with you."

"Hey." America whined, backtracking to pluck his bag out of the little bears grip. "That's just rude."

France let out a soft sigh, as the door closed. "Oh well."

"What oh well?" England bellowed, sliding out into the main part of the bathroom. "What just happened?"

The two older nations had slid through the other door, on the opposite wall from their former charges, and were now hiding in a stall to spy on them.

France sauntered from the stall, waving a dismissive hand at him. "It does not matter. You would not understand anyway."

"What're you on about?" England followed him, fuming from the lack of communication. "Are you keeping something from me?"

France laughed, slipping through the doorway. "I am keeping much from you. Why should now be any different, vous bête?"

"Hey." England growled, marching through the door after him. "What have I told you about speaking French around me?"

_##_

_AN: UGH! DIE FRENCH ACCENTS! (I'm good) This idea has actually been bouncing around my head since i saw a video called "aku no maple", and I finally got around to writing it when I dyed my hair. I was debating on what I should go with for the ending, then kinda wanted to go with a different form of trying to ship. Don't know how effective it was, but I still think it's cute._ _ Also, for some reason, I really wanted to have a bonding moment between France and America._


End file.
